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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28041525">Sin Excised</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/emeraldsandrubies/pseuds/StormyDaze'>StormyDaze (emeraldsandrubies)</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>What Needs Must [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Dishonored (Video Games)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Bondage, Clitoridectomy, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Drugged Sex, F/M, Gags, Religious Rituals, Vaginal Fingering, infibulation</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-11 00:35:42</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,921</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28041525</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/emeraldsandrubies/pseuds/StormyDaze</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Vice Overseer Byrne thinks he can help Emily against Delilah. Emily has no idea what she's getting into.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Emily Kaldwin/Liam Byrne, Emily Kaldwin/Various Overseers</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>What Needs Must [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2119929</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Consent Issues Exchange 2020</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Sin Excised</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/FelixPhial/gifts">FelixPhial</a>.</li>



    </ul></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">Vice Overseer Byrne is so pleased with Emily when she tosses Paolo’s corpse on the floor of his office. She gives him the withered hand as well, feeling her flesh crawl when she touches it, and he swears to dispose of it for her. She can feel the evil pouring off of it, and the sooner it’s destroyed, the better.</p><p class="p1">Having Byrne put his hand on her shoulder and tell her how well she’s done brings tears to her eyes. For the first time since Delilah encased her father in stone, she feels like there is someone who is really on her side, ready to help her carry the burden that is slowly crushing her. Meagan and Sokolov have their own agendas, and they need so much from her. She feels like she gives and gives until there will soon be nothing left of her.</p><p class="p1">Byrne sees the tears starting and guides her to a chair, pressing a handkerchief into her hand. Emily wipes her face as she blubbers out the whole story to Byrne: how she knows that she’s failed her empire, drinking and smoking her time away while letting the duke sink his claws in; how she wants to do better, wants to make things right, but nothing she does seems like enough; how she feels like she’s swimming against the current, making no progress and constantly in danger of being swept out to sea. She even finds herself telling him about rejecting the Outsider’s offer. Maybe if she’d taken his mark and his magic, she’d be able to do more for her people.</p><p class="p1">Byrne puts a kettle to boil on a tiny camp stove and then sits with her, patting her hand and listening patiently until Emily has poured out the whole sob story. When she’s done, she feels strangely empty. As if confessing her sins has unburdened her.</p><p class="p1">The kettle whistles and Byrne gets up to prepare the tea. He hands Emily a plain white porcelain cup and she sips the hot drink gratefully. It tastes vaguely minty but not like any kind she’s had before.</p><p class="p1">“It’s not too late for you, Empress,” he tells her. “You can still be purified. Only when you are truly free of dark influence will you have the power to take back your throne. I will perform a cleansing ceremony for you, if you’ll allow it.”</p><p class="p1">Emily isn’t sure what’s in the tea Byrne gave her, but it makes her feel like she’s floating. It’s… nice, after everything that’s happened. The duke, and Delilah, and nightmares that plague her whenever she closes her eyes, they all seem so far away.</p><p class="p1">“Yes,” she says desperately. “Cleanse me, make me pure, scrub out the darkness.”</p><p class="p1">She wobbles when she tries to stand. Byrne’s strong arm holds her upright, and she should be embarrassed to lean on him, but no matter. He will make her strong.</p><p class="p1">He leads her to a dim room that smells of incense. There’s a stone altar in the middle. Byrne begins to dispassionately remove her clothes, and Emily can’t seem to make her arms move enough to either help or stop him. In moments he has her bare and exposed, and he pushes her back on the altar.</p><p class="p1">She’s not sure how long he leaves her there, but when he returns, she hears the footsteps of several other Overseers with him. They grab her wrists and yank them down along the sides of the altar, binding them with coarse rope, and then tie her ankles to the other corners, leaving her spread and immobile.</p><p class="p1">Someone, Byrne perhaps, places one gloved hand on her chest, fondling her breast.</p><p class="p1">“Wha—” she tries to ask.</p><p class="p1">“Hush,” Byrne says. Another hand grips her jaw and stuffs a wad of clean cotton fabric in her mouth, pushing it so far into her throat that she nearly chokes on it. Only a lifetime of training in mastering her body’s impulses allows her to swallow her gag reflex.</p><p class="p1">Byrne squeezes her breast, and then pinches the other nipple with his free hand. A thrill shoots through Emily to her core. In contrast to the world around her, which has gone soft and blurry, sensations inside her body seem to have been sharpened and intensified. She likes having her tits played with, but it’s never felt like this. She arches up into the feeling, the ropes binding her arms and legs digging into her skin. She moans intoher gag.</p><p class="p1">There are more hands on her: squeezing her breasts, stroking her thighs, tracing the folds between her legs. The thick leather of the gloves makes the touch seem empty and impersonal, like she’s being groped by one of Jindosh’s machines. And yet every nerve sings with heat. She thrashes on the altar, unsure if she’s trying to lean into or away from the overwhelming sensations.</p><p class="p1">Her father trained her to resist both drugs and sexual assault, but he never combined the two, and whatever Byrne gave her isn’t something she’s familiar with. Still, she digs deep into her training, breathing deep through her nose, trying to still herself even as her treacherous body continues to twitch.</p><p class="p1">Byrne looms over Emily and strokes her hair. More tears sting her eyes. Her father did the same thing so many times: when she was young and had a nightmare, especially immediately after Havelock; when she was older and struggling with whatever test he’d set her. “Good,” Byrne says, not unkindly. “You asked for this, Empress. Let us make you pure.”</p><p class="p1">She didn’t ask for <em>this. </em>But Byrne says it will help. He says it will make her strong, so she can defeat Delilah. She forces herself to relax, although tears continue to fall from her eyes. Byrne wipes them gently with his handkerchief.</p><p class="p1">Two gloved fingers shove their way roughly into her cunt, and Emily instinctively clenches down on them. She’s not sure if she’s trying to push them out or pull them in. The fingers are thick, made thicker by the glove, and they stretch Emily far more than her own fingers do when she touches herself alone at night in her bunk on the Dreadful Wale. The owner of the fingers spreads them, like he’s trying to see how far he can open her up.</p><p class="p1">Emily’s hips jerk as another finger brushes her clit. It presses down hard, rubbing in tiny circles, and heat builds up in her core. Meanwhile the fingers in her cunt pump in and out, fucking her with a kind of mechanical detachment. And then someone <em>pinches </em>her clit, a sharp jolt of pain, and Emily comes, her vision sparkling, fluid gushing over those leather gloves that continue to fuck her without pause.</p><p class="p1">Instead of feeling like a release, her orgasm only seems to heighten the feeling of tension in her body. The hands on her tits, her belly, her thighs, her clit, and buried in her cunt feel like they’re winding her tight like a spring. And then the fingers in her cunt curl, pressing against that sensitive spot inside her, and Emily comes again, clenching tight around the fingers, which knead that spot mercilessly, drawing out a moan that might have been a scream if she wasn’t gagged.</p><p class="p1">The hands touching her all withdraw, leaving her shaking and covered in a light sheen of sweat, desperately sucking air in through her nose. The Overseers converse, but between the effects of the drug and her orgasms, Emily can’t understand what they’re saying. So instead she floats, only Byrne’s hand in her hair to anchor her to this point in time.</p><p class="p1">“Almost done,” Byrne reassures her, his voice echoing oddly. Emily nods, or thinks she does.</p><p class="p1">More hands. This time they grab her purposefully, gripping her thighs and spreading them as much as her bindings allow. Fingers coated in some kind of cold salve massage her folds perfunctorily, and she feels cold sparks in their wake.</p><p class="p1">Something even colder presses against her folds, and then there is pain. Icy, sharp, like the first snow after her mother died, when she carelessly ran across the courtyard, slipped, and shredded the skin on both palms. Just like then, the pain is delayed; she feels the pressure a moment before the agony.</p><p class="p1">Her foggy mind fumbles around until it trips over the truth of what is hurting her. For a moment, her numb mind refuses to accept it, until another slice of pain makes the truth unquestionable.</p><p class="p1">It’s a knife. They’re cutting her.</p><p class="p1">Emily screams around the gag and thrashes, trying to break free, but there are too many hands holding her down. She can barely even squirm as the knife makes another pass. It hurts, but not as much as it <em>should. </em>The salve must have numbed her somewhat. It doesn’t do anything to soothe her helpless horror, though.</p><p class="p1">She can’t see what is happening to her, but she knows her body, and she can’t help but imagine what it must look like. The tip of the knife, making an indent in the skin just above her clit before the skin parts and begins oozing blood. The knife presses deep, she can feel it slice almost down to her pelvic bone. The same thing on the other side, carving out that tiny nub from the flesh surrounding it.</p><p class="p1">The knife makes long, steady strokes downwards from her clit to near her ass, slicing off her folds neatly as well. The hand that holds the knife does not hurry. It is as smooth and precise as a calligrapher’s pen. She can feel hot blood welling up from the incisions. The salty iron smell of raw meat mingles with the incense, reminding Emily of a butcher shop before she remembers that it’s <em>her flesh </em>she smells.</p><p class="p1">It seems to take hours. Emily does not struggle anymore. She does not want them to damage her more than they already intend to, and anyway her body feels exhausted and heavy. She’s cried more tears today than she has in fifteen years, since those days she was locked up alone in the Golden Cat after her mother died.</p><p class="p1">At last they’re done with the cutting. Emily feels the sharp prick of a needle on the edge of her ruined genitals, piercing through the flesh on one side and then the other, sewing her closed to keep her from bleeding out. The stitches go down and down and down, until Emily imagines there’s only a small hole left, just enough for her to piss through.</p><p class="p1">A cold, damp cloth wipes blood from the line of stitches, and then there are no more hands holding her down. The ropes digging into her wrists and ankles loosen, but Emily does not move. She doesn’t have the strength to so much as twitch. She feels drained, empty.</p><p class="p1">“There,” Byrne says. “Now the taint of evil is removed.” He pauses. “Of course you may rest here, until you recover.” If Emily is imagining the thread of sympathy in his voice, well, she’s just going to keep imagining it.</p><p class="p1">Byrne slides one arm under Emily’s knees and one under her shoulders and lifts her easily, like her father did when she was a child. He carries her to a small, dark room, with a small, plain bed, and sets her down gently. He’s barely through the doorway when Emily falls down into the darkness of unconsciousness, taking a tiny bit of comfort from the thought that at least she won’t see that black-eyed bastard in her dreams.</p>
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